Vi Agra Falls (22 page)

“All right. Let's get ready for bed first and watch the TV in the family quarters.” Judith got up from the sofa.

“Dibs on the bathtub,” Renie said.

Five minutes later, Judith had finished her nightly rounds on the main floor. All seemed quiet in the guest area, though she hadn't heard the newlyweds or the university students return yet. When she reached the third floor, she saw that the master bathroom door was closed and heard Renie running the water.

“We don't own stock in the public utilities company,” Judith shouted through the closed door. “And you can't swim, remember?”

“I'm floating,” Renie yelled back before turning off the tap. “Damn the summer surcharge! We just get it paid off, and then they stick us with the winter surcharge. And don't get me started on the light bill!”

It was almost eleven before both cousins were ready for the night. The window fans whirred softly, cooling off the otherwise hot and stuffy former attic. Judith climbed into bed and turned on the TV. Renie propped herself up with a couple of pillows and lounged against the headboard. Following a car dealership commercial, Mavis and her coanchor, a young and earnest Hispanic man whose first name Judith recalled was Hector, appeared behind their news desk, smiling as if there couldn't possibly be any bad news to report.

“Permanent state of denial,” Renie declared. “Those phony smiles are intended to assure you that the world isn't full of mayhem and misery. I'd like it better if they did some weeping and wailing.”

Judith scowled. “
Please
. I can't hear with you babbling away.”

The Wednesday-night gloom and doom began with a five-car pileup on one of the floating bridges, which had killed two people and sent five more to local hospitals. A forest fire on the eastern side of the mountains was threatening not just trees and wildlife, but a small town near the Canadian border. A child predator had escaped from jail, and viewers were asked to call authorities if they'd seen him.

“I don't want to see him,” Renie murmured as the man's picture was shown. “He's uglier than a pig's hind end.”

Before going to a commercial break, Mavis also urged citizens to call KINE's hotline with any tips or breaking news stories. “They fired all their reporters?” Renie asked in disgust. “Why haven't they been paying you for solving so many murder cases? The cops should chip in, too.”

“I don't do it for the money, as you damned well know,” Judith snapped. “Nothing so far on our current death. No news to report?”

“No big news.” Renie yawned as the parade of advertisers marched across the screen. “How many August sales? Blowouts, blockbusters, clearance sales, inventory with prices so low they'll pay you to lug a bunch of crap out of their stores. Cars, mattresses, bedding, loan sharks, friendly bankers who might—but don't—recognize you even if you've been a customer for almost forty years. The last time I went to our bank and they asked for ID, I wouldn't show it to the teller until he showed me
his
ID first. Good grief, he wasn't even born by the time I wrote my umpteenth rubber check!”

“Now I remember why I don't like watching TV with you,” Judith said. “Will you shut up? Mavis is back.”

“Yippee.” Renie sank lower onto the pillows, muttering to herself during a series of minor events, including a temporarily
lost helicopter, a new arthritis drug under development at a local biotech company, a real estate scam in which the sellers were offering nonexistent lots to out-of-state buyers on a public golf course, and a rash of phony fifty-dollar bills being passed around on the Eastside.

“I'm bored,” Renie finally announced out loud. “This is why I never watch TV news.”

“I don't care,” Judith asserted. “Go to bed. In the other room.”

Before Renie could react, Hector, looking faintly sheepish, caught both of the cousins' attention: “The body of a man who was found in a Heraldsgate Hill backyard early Tuesday morning wasn't illegally removed from the city morgue but claimed by next of kin. We apologize for the misinformation, but there had been an error in the paperwork. Meanwhile, the police continue their investigation.”

Mavis, who had been staring tight-lipped into the camera while her colleague spoke, forced a small smile. “We'll be right back after messages from our sponsors. Stay tuned for the latest sports news and weather forecast.”

“That's…odd,” Judith said. “
What
investigation? Did you hear the word ‘homicide' anywhere in that segment?”

“No,” Renie replied, getting off the bed. “Apparently the police had an August clearance sale on murders, and they don't have any cases left to solve. Or could it have been an accident?”

Judith considered the question. “It
could
be, given the drunken nature of the people involved. Some kind of freak accident, maybe inspiring one of those idiots who surround Vivian to play a prank and put the guy in the tree. But wouldn't the police state that it was an accidental death?”

“Maybe they will,” Renie replied, standing by the bedroom door. “It's not official yet, so the media can't say so. Still, you
know what some people say—there's no such thing as an accident.”

“I don't believe that,” Judith countered. “I'd like to, though, at least this time.”

But she couldn't. If there was one thing Judith knew for certain, it was that any dead body she'd come across had been no accident.

T
hat night, Judith had strange dreams. They weren't exactly nightmares, but disjointed incidents, a few of which she remembered upon awakening. A waterfall had plunged from a tall building at the end of the cul-de-sac, threatening to flood Hillside Manor. Gertrude displayed her engagement ring, but instead of a diamond, a large chocolate bonbon rested in the setting. Clarence the bunny showed up wearing a cowboy outfit, singing “Happy Trails” while twirling a lariat. Maybe, Judith thought as she showered, the peculiar dreams had been caused by the deep-fried tempura.

Judith knew Renie wouldn't wake before ten. There were only eight guests to feed instead of the usual full summer occupancy of up to twelve. Judith figured Caitlin would prefer eating in the kitchen.

Just before eight, Judith carried her mother's tray out to the toolshed. Gertrude was up, dressed, and looking vexed. “You shake down your goofy cleaning woman,” she told her daughter. “I know she took my candy. She has her eye on it whenever she comes to tidy up.”

Judith glanced at the glass dish on the card table. “You seem to have plenty of sweets there now.”

Gertrude waved an impatient hand. “Not
that
candy. The new box I hadn't opened. Granny Goodness, a whole pound of it.” She licked her lips. “The best chocolates anywhere. And anywhere is where they've gone, because they're not here. See for yourself. My idiot niece couldn't find 'em. You think you can do better?”

“If Renie couldn't, I probably couldn't, either.” Seeing her mother's face pucker before uttering a stinging retort, Judith put up a hand. “I'll look later. Now I have to serve my guests.”

“Don't serve those morons any of my candy,” Gertrude rasped as Judith went out the door.

The four Californians had arrived in the dining room even earlier than usual. They were going on a sightseeing tour in one of several amphibious World War II vessels, called Ducks, that offered land and water views of the city. While consuming hearty portions of ham, sausage patties, scrambled eggs, coddled eggs, toast, muffins, and fresh fruit, the quartet chattered in happy anticipation of their adventure. Just before nine, as they went upstairs to finish getting ready for the tour, the front doorbell rang. A white man and a black woman stood on the front porch. Although they wore street clothes, they had “police” oozing from their pores. They also looked as if they hadn't yet hit thirty.

“We'd like to talk to you,” the female detective said in a flat, expressionless voice. “May we come in?”

“Yes,” Judith said, though she was irked by their arrival so early in the day and so late in the investigation. “We'll go into the parlor. I have to keep track of my guests. Not all of them have had breakfast.”

“No problem,” the male partner said. “Breakfast, huh?”

“Can I get you something?” Judith asked, opening the parlor door.

“Well…” He glanced at the woman, who stared straight ahead. “Such as what?”

Judith reeled off the morning menu.

“Sounds good,” the man responded. “I'm Jay Almquist, by the way. Homicide. This is K. C. Griffin, my partner.”

Judith smiled, and asked the woman, “How about you?”

Griffin, who was short but sturdy, shook her head. “I'm good. I eat breakfast. Every day.” She glanced up at her partner, who was almost a foot taller and thin as a sapling. “Some don't. Some eat twice.”

Almquist's face registered eager anticipation.

Judith pointed toward the dining room. “Go ahead, get a plate and fill up. None of the guests are at breakfast right now.”

Almquist didn't need coaxing. Judith led Griffin into the parlor and pointed to one of the matching chairs. “Have a seat. I'll sit in this other chair. Your partner will probably be better off on the window seat, since he'll be eating.”

Griffin scowled. “He often is, as long as the food's free.”

“He doesn't look as if he's able to mooch very often,” Judith pointed out. “He's quite skinny.”

Griffin sighed. “I know. One of the lucky ones.”

“Yes,” Judith said. “I have a cousin like that. Renie—Serena, I should say—has metabolism that burns up calories.”

Griffin regarded Judith solemnly. “I'm not criticizing Jay. Detective Almquist, I ought to call him. Partners have to stick together.”

It seemed to Judith as if Griffin was reminding herself of that concept. “Yes.”

Griffin removed a notebook from her shoulder bag. “Mrs. Buss came here to tell you and your husband about the dead man she'd found in her yard. Why?”

Judith sensed that Griffin knew the answer, so there was no point in being coy. “First, she was married to my husband for
many years. Second, my husband, Joe Flynn, is a retired police detective.”

Griffin didn't write anything down, which confirmed Judith's suspicions about the detective's knowledge. “I understand,” the detective continued, “Mrs. Buss was very agitated.”

“Very.”

“Did she tell you she didn't recognize the victim?”

“Yes.”

“Was anyone else able to ID him?”

“I assume so.” Judith paused. “Someone claimed the body as next of kin. Who?”

“That's privileged information,” Griffin replied, eyes averted.

“It shouldn't be,” Judith asserted, and for one brief moment was tempted to trot out her reputation as FATSO. “I mean,” she went on, overcoming the impulse, “the city has an obligation to clarify what happened at the morgue after the media erroneously stated that the body had been stolen. Did their original information come from city officials?”

Griffin looked faintly chagrined. “Mistakes happen,” she replied through taut lips. “That doesn't mean that the police can violate policy.”

“Okay, how about this? I know who the victim is, or was. Tell me if I'm right. His name is Johnny Agra.”

To Judith's surprise, the detective shook her head. “No.”

Astonished, Judith stared at the other woman. “I think you're wrong. Prove to me he's not Johnny Agra.”

“I don't have to,” Griffin retorted, taking umbrage. “That's not my job, and even if it were, I see no need to question the deceased's identity.”

“Then why was he murdered?”

Before the detective could answer, her partner came through the parlor door, juggling two plates heaped with food.
“Somebody's here to see you,” Almquist announced. “She says she's your cleaning lady.”

“She is,” Judith murmured, with a sharp glance at Griffin. “Excuse me.” Getting up from the chair, she left the room.

Phyliss was in the kitchen, already scouring a couple of pans left over from the breakfast preparations. “Who's the hog?” she asked. “Gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” Judith said testily. “He's a cop. His partner is in the parlor.” Hearing voices in the entry hall, she went back into the dining room to make sure that Almquist had left enough food for the guests. The sausage was gone, the fruit was depleted, and all that was left of the toast were some crumbs.

The Virginians entered, greeting their innkeeper with smiles.

“I'm getting more fruit,” Judith informed them, “as well as sausages and toast. It'll take only a few minutes.”

“No rush,” one of the twins assured her.

In the kitchen, she found Caitlin introducing herself to Phyliss.

“Have you been saved?” the cleaning woman asked.

Caitlin looked nonplussed. “From what?”

Phyliss narrowed her eyes. “From leading a life that will put you in hell. Have you?”

“Ah…” Caitlin shot Judith a helpless glance. “I'll have to get back to you on that.”

“Phyliss,” Judith said, her tone strident, “start upstairs. Start now. Only the honeymooners haven't come down yet. Go.”

“Go? I just got here. What kind of devilish doings are going on here now?” She slapped a dishrag against the sink's edge and stomped off down the hall.

Caitlin seemed bewildered. “Did I do something I shouldn't have?”

“No, of course not,” Judith replied, taking a package of
sausage patties out of the fridge. “Phyliss is a religious fanatic. Ignore her. She's a very hard worker. Oops!” She dropped the unopened package on the floor.

“Let me get that,” Caitlin said. “What
is
going on? You're upset.”

“I am,” Judith replied, and briefly explained why.

Caitlin was sympathetic. “Let me take over your breakfast cooking. Don't forget, I inherited my father's knack in the kitchen. I had to, since my mother rarely prepared anything that didn't come with ice cubes.”

Judith patted Caitlin's arm. “Thanks. I appreciate your help.”

“I'm glad to do it,” Caitlin said. “Staying here is much better than being at Mom's.”

“Your room's vacant again tonight,” Judith said. “So is Frankie and Marva Lou's. I wish I could find out if they're okay.”

“I'll call the hospital,” Caitlin volunteered. “I can claim kinship, however tenuous. Telling them I'm a niece, which I suppose I am, since they're mother's in-laws. Bayview, right?”

“Yes.” Judith pointed to the bulletin board next to the swinging doors. “I put the number there. I'm rejoining the cops.”

The honeymooning Kerrs had come downstairs. Judith greeted them in the entry hall and told them her stepdaughter was temporarily in charge, in case they needed anything.

“Thanks,” Jake Kerr said. “By the way, I called the hospital this morning. Mr. and Mrs. Buss are in satisfactory condition, but they may not be released today.”

Judith was embarrassed. “Thank you! I had no luck. I didn't even think about you being a doctor and able to get information out of the medical staff. I struck out.”

Jake smiled. “I find that a medical degree opens some doors.”

“Would you mind telling my stepdaughter?” Judith said.
“She was going to call Bayview to find out what was going on. Were you told what made them so sick?”

“Some kind of food poisoning,” he answered. “Without all the tests completed, they can't be specific.”

“I understand.” Thanking him again, she went into the parlor. Griffin was pacing the room; Almquist was stuffing his face. “Okay,” Judith said, fists on hips, “what else do you want to ask me?”

Griffin stopped pacing just short of the hearth. “I'd like to know why you're acting as if you're the one in charge here.
We
ask the questions.
You
answer them. Got it?”

Judith made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “Go ahead.”

Griffin nodded once. “Describe your relationship with Mrs. Buss.”

Judith repressed an urge to blurt,
“I can't stand the woman, she almost ruined my life.”
Instead, she said, “We're cordial,” and wondered what the detective was getting at.

“Great sausage,” Almquist said.

Griffin ignored her partner, keeping her eyes on Judith. “What about Mr. Flynn?”

“What about him?”

Griffin remained standing; Almquist was still eating.

“Does he get along with his ex-wife?”

“Yes.” That much was true, Judith thought. Rancor wasn't one of Joe's traits.

“Terrific muffins,” Almquist put in. “Not soggy or dry, like some.” He darted his partner an accusing glance.

Again, Griffin's attention stayed focused on Judith. “We know that there was some kind of dispute earlier in the evening between the Busses and the neighbors. Mrs. Buss made an announcement about a construction project that didn't go
down well with the people who live in the cul-de-sac. How did you feel about her plans?”

“I was upset,” Judith replied, leaning on the back of the chair she'd vacated earlier. “A condo seems out of place in this area.”

“This reaction was shared by all of the neighbors?”

“Yes.”

“Have any of you discussed ways to contest Mrs. Buss's proposal?”

“You mean—formally? No.”

Griffin's face hardened. “Are you certain about that?”

“Of course.” A light began to dawn in Judith's mind. “Are you suggesting some kind of ecoterrorism plot?”

“It happens these days,” Griffin said grimly.

Judith knew the statement was true. The media had featured several stories about outraged citizens who were willing to resort to arson and other illegal means in an effort to halt construction projects. She felt that their actions were misguided, despite sympathizing with their desire to preserve the environment.

“So,” Judith said, “you think that…what? This man was murdered in an effort to frighten Mrs. Buss?”

“I didn't say that,” Griffin said stiffly. “Another scenario would be that the victim was deeply involved in the project, and doing away with him would hamper Mrs. Buss's progress with the condo construction.”

“Got any more of those scrambled eggs?” Almquist asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“No,” Judith snapped.

Both of Almquist's plates were empty. “I'll see if there's more fruit,” he said, getting up and ambling out of the parlor.

Judith turned a severe expression on Griffin. “Does your partner always eat during an investigation?”

“Sometimes.” Griffin's face was impassive. “Where's Mr. Flynn? We'd like to talk to him.”

“‘We'?” Judith echoed. “Why? Does Almquist want his egg recipe?”

“Sarcasm is counterproductive,” Griffin declared. “Mr. Flynn is on our witness list.”

“Mr. Flynn is in Atlanta,” Judith replied with some satisfaction. Joe would be able to deal with the situation far better than she seemed to be doing. “In fact,” she went on, “I understand you spoke with him earlier, on Tuesday morning, after you came to look at the body.”